


Better Days

by Anonymous



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: F/M, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, M/M, i love these kids..., im sorry, timeline is messy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 19:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20801408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A small collection of memories from the Losers Club after they've defeated Pennywise.





	Better Days

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for checking this out, this is my first fic on ao3! english isn't my first language and you're encouraged to correct me or give me criticism, thanks!!!

“Well, again, it’s not much, but I’ve got sleeping bags for all of you! And, uh, the bed. I don’t mind lending it to someone else for the night.”

Blessed by a few miracles (and a few lies) was how each of the Losers managed to convince their parents to allow them to spend the night at Mike’s farm, and now Ben Hanscom, Bill Denbrough, Bev Marsh, Richie Tozier, Stan Uris, and, heck, even Eddie Kaspbrak were gathered there for the night. Bill, Ben and Rich had it the easiest; Richie’s parents just didn’t care, whilst both Bill and Ben’s mothers had heard lots about the Hanlon kid from their children, and were quite fond of him. In fact, Ms. Hanscom had smiled ever so fondly upon hearing the request from her dearest Ben, glad he was making friends, but half seeing it as her kid being kind enough to hang out with the lonely homeschooled boy who was often isolated from the rest of the kids. To her, if her child couldn’t make any friends, then a young boy who didn’t even go to school couldn’t possibly be in a better situation – especially if the boy was the type that, well, the stupid little Derry consensus would like to throw slurs and insults at.

Bev Marsh and Eddie Kaspbrak could probably have the most fun out of them all if they were having a Biggest Liar competition; what Alvin heard from his daughter was that she was staying at Gretta Keene’s, who most definitely did not bully his daughter to tears on a daily basis, and Gretta went to church and was a devoted Catholic who would never even consider initiating a boy talk (not that Bevvie would either, because she was so not interested in boys, and her heart did not pound right out of her chest when she looked at a specific friend who she was absolutely not going to share a room with that night; just them and then five other boys. Nope, definitely not happening! Not to Marsh’s girl). To Alvin, this was going to be a girls-only night, because Mr. Keene had gone away from town for a couple of days and Gretta would be alone with her mother (perhaps the smartest part of the lie, given that he was, indeed, away, and Keene’s Pharmacy would be closed for two days).

Eddie Kaspbrak, on the other hand, had to engage in an actual fight, because there weren’t any friends of his – or acquaintances, or strangers – whom his mother would’ve ever trusted her darling son with, not for a whole night, no sir!, especially not when the pharmacist was away from Derry! But she was beginning to feel him slip away from her fingers, like ice melting on the palm of her hand during a summer afternoon. She knew that if Eddie couldn’t reason with her, he was more than likely to just run off and go anyway, and that would be even worse than the alternative scenario in which she complied, because, if she did comply, then at least she’d be left with a kiss on the cheek and a number to call in case of an emergency (to Ms. Kaspbrak, a simple sneeze was an emergency) – and oh, of course, she’d be the one to pack his medicine for him. That’s why she was content in letting the boy go to the Denbrough residence, to spend the night helping Bill do his Math homework, watch a family-friendly movie (without getting too close to the television) and going to sleep no later than 8pm.

Better yet, Stanley Uris was not grounded anymore, but he and his father weren’t on speaking terms yet. That’s why he simply told his mother he would be sleeping over at a friend’s, and she said yes, and off he went, not too different from Richie.

Mike invited his friends up to the second floor of the house, and they realized the wooden staircase was very squeaky.

“Look, when I press my foot here it sounds like your mom when she’s under me!”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Hey, please tell me you’ve got scary movies we can watch, Mikey.”

“Scary movies? Why would he need scary movies when he can just take his bike and boom, there’s the Bowers residence, newest haunted house in Derry?”

Mike smiled his usual shy smile that looked like it could light up the whole world and made you want to pinch his cheeks.

“Actually,” he started. “I was thinking we could just… play games, I guess?”

It was like he was afraid of being rejected every time he opened his mouth, and he was always so polite in his approach to things. This was really the sweet side of Mike the Losers had all grown to love as much as they did his strong and brave, persistent self. To them, it was funny; one minute, Mike could be flashing such courage, like he was physically unable to falter; the determination in his eyes shone bright and made itself known no matter where he stood. Then, the next, he would look like the type of person small animals come out of hiding to befriend. Eddie thinks Mike’s mentioned having owned a dog before; Bill is sure of it; neither ever bothered to ask him about it.

“Truth or dare!” Bev beamed, and in all honesty, that was perhaps the opposite of what Mike had been hoping for, but the startled reactions from his friends were convincing enough for him to roll with it.

Mike hadn’t had the best childhood. He lost his parents – no, he’d helplessly watched them die, which is much worse than losing someone: to him, for the longest time, it felt like personally sending them to their deaths. After that, he worked day and night, never played, studied sometimes, dealt with the racist neighbors and lived on. Never once did he play hide and seek or tag. He didn’t consider himself a happy person, but he didn’t think about it either. And maybe, he thought, or better yet, he felt in his heart that none of his friends, regardless of how easy or complicated their childhoods had been and regardless of the burdens they carry, would not grow into happy people either. Mike felt good around them; like he could be the kid he never had a chance to be. He felt peace and he felt at ease, but when they turned their backs and left to meet their own curfews, he could almost see a shadow following them. It was their burden, their monsters, their phantoms. Mike worried without ever bringing it up. He wanted to keep them happy in the same safe space they eagerly provided him these past weeks. Weeks? Oh, my, but it felt like years! They were his dearest friends, their hearts bound and connected to each other by frail little transparent strings that would never be cut off. That was how Mike felt, at least, when he looked at the scar on the palm of his hand.

The childhood he was hoping to live that afternoon was quickly eclipsed by the bright arrival of adolescence into his friends’ years, so he grabbed a bottle of Cola and gulped down what was left of it, washed it (“What’s the need? Hurry up!” “Shut up, Richie! I’m not playing with a dirty bottle!” “Do you two ever shut up?”) and then placed it on the floor of his upstairs bedroom, which had almost no decoration besides his bed, a nightstand, a closet with some drawers underneath it and a rug where they all sat down. He kept it neat, and that gave the Losers more than enough space to sit comfortably and spin.

“Alright, Haystack, truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“Hmm, alright. I dare you to lick the floor.”

“What?”

“Why?”

“That’s disgusting!”

“What the fuck, guys, it’s just a typical dare! Fine, then, I dare you to kiss Big Bill. This gonna turn into Spin The Bottle or what?”

Ben licked the wood on Mike’s bedroom floor almost eagerly and everyone went quiet, even Richie, who suddenly no one wanted the bottom of the bottle to point at ever again. The blonde looked back up at their faces, trying to read them, trying his best not to linger on Beverly’s for too long, and blushed when no one said anything for a few seconds; then she laughed the warm laugh he’d come to love, and everyone followed suit, and he did too, and they were all on the floor, clutching their bellies as they cackled hard enough to feel them hurt.

With a soft ‘okay, okay!’, it was Beverly who spun it next, and it landed on Mike and Stan.

“Uh, so do I ask or…”

“No, you pick. Truth or dare?”

“I’ll go with dare.”

“Whoa! What a daring bunch we’ve got! Keep it up, fellas!” Richie just had to butt in.

“I dare you to ban me from the game.”

“Stan, no!”

The boy rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“I dare you to show us what’s in your closet.”

Mike smiled gently and got up on his feet, ignoring a loud boo (“Boooooring!” “Shut up, Richie!”). He opened the closet doors, and besides a small sculpture of a giraffe that looked like it’d been carved out of wood and delicately painted over, there was nothing interesting in there; just his clothes and a couple comic books he kept neatly organized in the corner, as they were actually Eddie’s and he was terrified of borrowing stuff from people and accidentally damaging it.

“Nothing interesting.” He shrugged, not wiping the smile away. If he stopped to ask himself if there was even a specific reason he was smiling, he’d probably realize it was all because his friends were there, at his house, in his bedroom. He never thought he’d have friends over; he hadn’t had fun in a long time, especially not with other people. He really felt like a part of something, and it changed everything in his life.

“What’s up with the giraffe? That’s pretty cute!” Beverly beamed.

“Ah, my mom used to make these.” He picked it up and showed it, without offering to let them touch it, then put it back where it was and closed the closet doors.

“You actually kind of look like a giraffe, Stan, cause you’re tall, you always look bored and the stuff you eat is always green. How’d you know you’d find yourself in there?” Richie spoke as Beverly occupied herself in spinning the glass bottle once again.

“Shut up, Richie.”

“Tru-truth or… dare, E-Eddie?”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to-to write ’t-trashmouth’ on Ri-Richie’s face.”

“Oh, trash the Trashmouth, yet again!”, Richie half joked, half complained as Eddie asked Mike to borrow a pen and got to work. “It fucking tickles!”

“Did you know this could give you skin cancer? I hope you get skin cancer and die.”

“If I get skin cancer, one or all of you’s gonna have to give me CPR. I’m counting on you, Dr. K!”

“That’s so not how it works!” Eddie could’ve rambled forever if he hadn’t heard the bottle while he was still working on Richie’s face, kneeling beside him. He looked at it, messing up the writing so the ’t’ looked like a ‘b’, reading trashmoubh.

“You again, Mike.” Beverly smiled; this time, the bottom of the bottle was pointing to her. “Truth or dare?”

“I guess I’ll pick truth. Can’t do two dares in a row!”

It earned a smile from Beverly and a ‘hooray for our first truth!’ from Richie.

“Is there a girl you like?”

“You!” He beamed happily, then jumped a little when Ben and Bill simultaneously turned to look with eyes wider than he thought those two could manage. “Not like that, though! I just…” He looked down, then gave his friends’ favorite smile of his and shrugged. “Never had friends. Never thought I’d have friends. I know people socialize a lot in school, but I don’t go to school, and I guess I just… didn’t assume anyone would ever care about me.” They were all quiet, smiling and nodding; Richie didn’t crack a joke this time, and Mike got on his feet and opened up the closet again. “There’s something else here I never showed you.” He pulled out a large rock hidden in the depths of the closet, under a few clothes; the thinner end of it was covered in dried out blood. “It’s what you hit Bowers with that day, Bev. I kept it.”

“The rock war…” Ben smiled. “It really changed us as a group, didn’t it? Without you, we wouldn’t be lucky seven.”

“Yeah, maybe we should find more people to throw rocks at.” Richie nodded.

“Nah.” Beverly took the rock from Mike’s hand, analyzing it with pride. Back then, when she had thrown it, she barely even saw its shape, let alone cared about it; yet now it had a special vibe to it, and it looked so unique and exclusive and meaningful. “But if anyone ever messes with you again,” she looked at Mike, then averted her eyes to the group. “Or any of you…” Green eyes went back to admiring the shape of the rock as her hands toyed with it, bouncing its weight up and down. “I’ll be there.”

* * *

Mike woke up in the middle of the night. Not an uncommon occurrence; he had nightmares pretty often. How could he not?

But something felt different this night, and when he felt the hard wood floor against his back, he immediately knew what it was. He wasn’t sleeping on his bed; he’d let Beverly have it, and the rest of the Losers were scattered on the floor, not taking up too much space (except for Stan, who promptly moved away from anyone who did so much as breathe his way, and had unconsciously moved far enough to be almost out the door). Richie snored lightly, “trashmoubh” still written on his cheek, clinging onto Eddie (who was mumbling something unintelligible) and having successfully kicked both of their blankets off into the distance. At their feet laid Ben, whose heart Mike swore he could hear all the way through the night until he fell asleep, maybe because he was close enough to Beverly’s face to see how peacefully she slept, just like an angel, and he loved her, and Mike knew. Mike himself now sat between him and Bill.

Mike shut his eyes and felt his own heartbeat calm down significantly. He’d never had his uncle comfort him at night, not even as a little kid, when he woke up to the slowly disappearing screaming voices of his parents and heard them be replaced with the thumping in his chest. He’d grown used to it; to being the one who would breathe in and out, deeply, strong enough to scare the thoughts away.

This night, however, those thoughts were muffled by the creaking of the bed when Beverly moved, by Eddie’s mumbling, by Richie’s snores, and by Ben’s heartbeat. And when Mike looked to the side, he saw Stan and Bill sleeping soundly as if nothing in this world could possibly wake them up; not a scary painting or the ghost of a loved one.

He smiled. That night, just that night, Mike was able to go back to sleep faster than he ever had before. He had a good dream about kids running wildly in the overgrown summer grass of the Barrens.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you liked it, please leave a comment!


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